| Dear and Beloved, Here
am I, and you at the Antipodes. O execrable facts, that keep our lips from kissing, though
our souls are one.
What can I tell you by letter? Alas!
nothing that I would tell you. The messages of the gods to each other travel not by pen
and ink and indeed your bodily presence here would not make you more real: for I feel your
fingers in my hair, and your cheek brushing mine. The air is full of the music of your
voice; my soul and body seem no longer mine, but mingled in some strange exquisite ecstacy
with yours. I feel incomplete without you. Ever and ever yours,
OSCAR |
